


Blood and Types

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [95]
Category: Moonlight - Fandom, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8316832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Multiverse, Any, "I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." (Galileo)" and the 2016 Shoobie Monster Fest.John Sheppard and his team take on vampires.





	

“Lay it on me again,” John said. He and Dean were sitting at an outdoor table at a cafe while Rodney, Miko, Sam, and Lorne wandered the endless aisles and rows and shelves of Powell’s Books.

“Vamps come in three flavors,” Dean said. Oddly, he relished in delivering lectures on lore. “One: the Black Bouquet types. Capable of day-walking. Vulnerable to fire and wood. We leave them alone, because they police their own, and you really, really don’t want to cross their internal enforcers. Two: the Weird Science types.”

“Weird science?”

“Because in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the alchemists were doing something hinky with vampires in hopes of making them more useful to humans and came up with these bozos, and then royalty got in on the act, and the disease spread. These clowns are also day-walking, but are much weaker in the sun, need to sleep in freakin’ freezers, and are killed pretty much only by beheading or fire, but can be poisoned by silver and paralyzed by wooden stakes.”

“Sounds like a lamer version of the Black Bouquet, who are way better at blending in with humans.” John thought it was a strange world, that the coffee Lorne made on the bus with instant stuff out of a tin tasted better than fancy coffee from a ridiculously expensive cafe.

“I didn’t say they were better,” Dean said. “Anyway, they also have their own internal enforcement system, so unless one of them goes super crazy, we also leave them alone. The kind we hunt are type three: the Jaws variety.”

“Jaws?” John echoed.

“Yeah. The first two have cute little fangs just like you see on TV, extra-long, extra-sharp canines that are retractable.” Dean slurped at his coffee like it was going out of style. “The Jaws variety have an entire second set of retractable fangs that look like shark teeth. See, the Black Bouquet vampires - they don’t need to kill to feed, only need to feed every couple of days, a pint here, a pint there, and their saliva heals bite wounds, and they can telepathically erase a human’s memory of being fed on. The Weird Science types need to feed more often, and the quality of feeding depends on the age of the victim and blood type - younger is better, same blood type is better.”

John frowned. “So they target kids?”

Dean’s expression darkened. “Only if they want to get into trouble. But they don’t have to kill to feed, and often they can work out a voluntary donor system with humans - but no memory wipes. Fresh is better, after all.” He sipped some more coffee. “But we’re after the last kind, who don’t give a damn about humans or staying hidden, and when they feed, it looks like someone got their throat ripped out. Pretty bad.”

John nodded, made a mental note to keep an eye out for that in autopsies.

Dean continued, “They can also day-walk. They can be burned to death or starved out. And once they have a human’s scent, they never lose it. They’re a lot more like animals, pack-oriented, territorial. Wood doesn’t matter to them. Burn them or behead them with a silver blade. You can paralyze them, though. With dead man’s blood.”

“Hence -”

“Hence Vala’s trip to the morgue and us bringing crossbows on this venture.” Dean nodded, grinned.

No wonder hunters kept journals. There was so much to remember. As much as John knew he could ask any one of the others and get an answer or get pointed in the direction of the book that had the answer, he needed to know this on his own, to be able to call up information and use it in the field without thinking. Writing things down definitely helped him remember. But did he need to get a fancy leather-bound journal, like Sam and Dean kept? Or like the heavy sketchbook Lorne kept, filled with fantastic drawings and his meticulous draftsman’s print?

“I know you got extra certifications for your marksmanship,” Dean said, finishing his coffee, “so I’m not worried about your ability to aim, but you need to be pretty damn fast at reloading a crossbow. So, while the others are playing Marian Librarian, let’s go get our medieval battle on.”

“How do you know I have extra certifications for marksmanship?” John hurried to finish his own coffee.

“Saw a picture of you in your dress uniform.”

“And you recognized the badges on my jacket?”

“My dad was a Marine, was always damn proud of it. I learned everything I could about the military above and beyond what he taught me, and then when Sammy hitched up to the Air Force in law school, I did more research.” Dean smiled. “Now come on, Major. Let’s do this.” 

 

*

Reloading a crossbolt, even one with a relatively light draw-weight (110 pounds) took a lot longer than John liked. He had pretty good accuracy, true, but it took forever to load a new bolt. More than seconds each time.

“Can’t we load ammo with dead man’s blood?” he asked while Dean was re-setting the targets again (they’d gone to an archery range, the popularity of which had skyrocketed in the wake of _The Hunger Games_ ).

“Tried it. Didn’t work,” Dean said.

“What about tipping regular arrows with dead man’s blood?”

“Not a high enough dose. Tried that too.” Dean clapped John on the shoulder. “Now come on, load up!”

After another hour’s training, Dean deemed John competent enough to be first-line on the crossbow (because if things went south, then he wanted his best guy on the crossbow, and naturally the best guy was Sam), and they decided to hunt down some lunch and wait for word from Lorne and the rest of the bookworms, but then John’s bluetooth crackled to life.

“Vala for John.”

“Go for John.”

“Just got word from Rodney and the rest. Lore shopping is done. We’re going to rendezvous for food and a strategy meeting.”

“Rendezvous coordinates?”

“I’ll text them to you. ETA?”

John checked his phone, tapped on the address in the text message so the map app opened, checked the route. “Twenty minutes.”

“Excellent. See you there.”

Dean stared at John. “Sometimes I forget you’re really a soldier.”

“I am Major Sheppard, Captain Winchester.”

“I just - right. What’s up?”

“We’re meeting the others for food and planning. Let’s go.”

They loaded up the crossbow and bolts, signed out at the front, and climbed into the sedan. The restaurant Vala had chosen was a diner that was more upscale than their usual fare, but it was Portland, and Lorne, who was not-so-secretly a foodie (and who made amazing food on the rare occasions they ate at the bunker) wanted to eat good food.

Sam and Miko were already seated at a corner booth, a massive leather-bound volume open between them, poring over what looked like a medieval woodcut, whispering excitedly. Lorne was perusing the menu while Rodney was having a serious conversation with the hostess about his citrus allergy. She looked irritated, so John cleared his throat, smiled.

“Ma’am, I know my friend is being very strident, but his condition is serious. Even the slightest hint of citrus on his skin gives him hives, and were he to ingest any -”

It worked. The hostess smiled at John, nodded, and said, “I’ll talk to your server and the kitchen.”

“Thank you. We really appreciate it.” And, in a move he hadn’t pulled since he was sixteen and driving his porsche to cotillions, he drew a folded twenty dollar bill out of his money clip and handed it over with a practiced flick of his wrist.

The hostess’s smile brightened, and she bustled away.

“Smooth move, Bond,” Dean said.

“I can take care of myself,” Rodney snapped.

“At least you know she won’t be spiking your food,” Lorne said lightly, and looked unbothered by Rodney’s ferocious glare.

Rodney did scoot over so John could sit beside him, and everyone else scooted around so Dean could sit beside Sam. Vala was the last to arrive, came striding into the diner wearing her Fed suit and killer heels. She looked dangerous and beautiful, and a whole lot of heads turned when she passed.

“You’re late,” Rodney said.

“I am always right on time,” Vala returned breezily. She squeezed into the booth beside John, which was a little claustrophobic, but then he was pressed up beside Rodney, which wasn’t so bad. “Besides, while you lot were playing Crossbows and Bookworms, I was taking a tour of the city morgue and gathering important information for this case.”

Miko made a face. “Can we please not talk about this over food?”

“I promise not to get into the gory details. That said, I have confirmed that we are indeed hunting what we suspected we were hunting when the hotline sent the lead to Lorne. I also managed to sweet-talk a lovely police detective into sharing her files on each of the suspected murder cases with me.”

“How much talking was involved?” Dean muttered.

“I have the gift of the gab, darling,” Vala said.

“I thought that only belonged to fairies,” Lorne said, and raised his eyebrows at John, who cast him a warning look.

“And people who’ve kissed the Blarney Stone at Blarney Castle,” Sam offered.

“Or maybe just the king who ruled from Blarney Castle.” Vala smiled sweetly.

The server arrived, a fresh-faced, bright-eyed boy with red-blond hair, freckles, and bright blue eyes. According to his nametag, he was Matt.

“Welcome to Benny’s Diner. The fresh catch of the day is yellow-tail tuna. The special of the day is yellow-tail sashimi. Can I get you started with anything to drink or any appetizers?”

Sam and Miko ordered more coffee. Lorne and Vala ordered tea. Dean and John ordered water, as did Rodney.

Matt nodded, scribbling on his notepad. “Citrus-free for you, correct?” He looked at Rodney.

Rodney nodded. “Correct.”

“Great. Any appetizers?”

John ordered a plate of potato skins to share, and then he settled back to listen and learn.

“No pictures,” Vala promised, “but this is what I have so far.” She reached into her purse and drew out her tablet. “Fifteen victims, all of them low-risk - homeless, runaways, prostitutes, the usual. Throats torn out, bodies drained of blood. I used that algorithm you wrote, Rodney, the one you developed from Dr. Reid, and I have found an estimated hunting ground.”

“Excellent,” Rodney said. “What are we looking at?”

“I’m guessing at least two vampires,” Vala said. “Judging by the teeth marks.”

“Like a Bonnie and Clyde kind of thing?” Sam asked.

“Didn’t bother with DNA swabs,” Vala said. “Because those always come back a bit odd. Vampire DNA is, well, baffling to scientists. No clue about possible vampire sexes.”

“Fifteen kills in six weeks is still a lot.” Rodney studied the map on the tablet. “Even for two vampires to be splitting.”

“Think they’re tapping humans like kegs for a nest?” Dean asked.

“It’s a really big hunting ground,” John observed. “Even factoring in that these are vampires and they’re cocky compared to humans, I think it is a nest. Maybe two vampires per kill, but it would take a whole lot of vampires to feel that comfortable in that big a space.”

“Well, let’s go see what we can find,” Rodney said. “I really would like to be able to refine this algorithm so it can be useful for things like vampires and werewolves and other hunting creatures.”

Matt reappeared with drinks for everyone, as well as a platter of potato skins. He distributed them efficiently, then balanced his notebook on his empty tray to take their orders.

“Everything all right?” A tall, broad man with a heavy beard and a cook’s apron, a fisherman’s cap, came to stand behind Matt, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Service is great so far,” John said, smiling.

“Everything’s fine, Benny,” Matt said.

Lorne raised his eyebrows. “As in Benny’s Diner?”

“That’s right.” Benny had a southern accent, down Louisiana way, if John wasn’t mistaken. What he was doing this far north was curious, but it was a curious world. “You fine folks let me know if Matt doesn’t treat you right, or if the food’s no good.”

Matt ducked his head, blushed, and with a jolt, John realized they were _together_. It was the way Matt leaned in to Benny’s touch, the way Benny smiled so fondly at him. John glanced at the others to see if they noticed. Miko had, was smiling at them like they were a pair of baby bunnies. Dean waggled his eyebrows at Sam, who rolled his eyes. Lorne flicked a glance over them, noted, and took one of the potato skins. Rodney was completely oblivious.

“As long as your food remains citrus-free, it’ll be adequate,” he said.

Benny raised his eyebrows. “Adequate?”

Lorne dabbed at his mouth with one of the napkins. “So far, it’s more than adequate. The dash of thyme in the sour cream on the potato skins is genius.”

Benny raised his eyebrows. “You noticed that?”

“He notices everything,” Vala said.

Benny squeezed Matt’s shoulder. “All right. Keep up the good work.” And Benny moved on to check in on some of the other servers.

Everyone placed their orders, and there was further discussion.

“How do we even catch these vampires?” John asked.

“We need to find their nest.” Lorne sipped delicately at his tea. Everything about him was just a little - off. Like he was from another decade, or another century. John wondered if he’d always been like that, or if it was because of what he could see.

“The problem with that, of course,” Rodney said, “is we’d need more bodies to get a better read on their hunting ground. Unless we had psychological profiles on the vampires - and who they were as humans is less important than how long they’ve been vampires and who sired them - we’d have a hell of a time calculating their next chosen hunting spot.”

“So then what?” John asked.

“Good old-fashioned bait.” Dean grinned.

“How would we possibly get vampires to pick one of us over the dozens of other people available?”

“A little bit of a costume change,” Lorne said, “but it can be done.”

“Do we all need to be bait? Surely someone has to be back-up.” John blinked.

“You, me, and Sam will be back-up,” Dean said. “We just give off too many soldier-y vibes.”

Lorne shrugged. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“We’re soldiers,” Dean said.

Lorne smiled. “But with the right clothes, the right make-up, a little adjustment to your hair, all three of you would make fantastic-looking rent-boys.”

Sam choked on his coffee.

“Ooh, do tell,” Vala said.

“How did you say that with a straight face and without sounding at all gay?” John asked.

“I’m an artist. Comes with the territory.” Lorne winked.

“What about Rodney?” Miko asked. “Wouldn’t he make a good rent boy?”

Rodney turned bright red. “We’re not talking about this.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times - nay, a thousand times,” Lorne said patiently. “Rodney McKay, you’re beautiful. The color of your eyes and the line of your mouth and -”

“We’re pretexting as homeless people,” Rodney said firmly, still blushing. He cleared his throat. “Our best option is to stake out an alley as a team, three of us as bait, four of us as back-up, and wait for the vamps to strike.”

“How do we begin to pick a place?” Dean frowned.

John studied the geographical profile Vala had built. “Look, vampires are more human than animal compared to, say, a pack of wolves. Humans try to be random, but what they end up doing is establishing a pattern. Look.” He tilted the datapad. “See, each kill site is numbered. What does that look like to you?”

Dean spotted it first. “It’s like screwing down a water pump. You go basically clockwise, but in kind of a star pattern. And everything is as evenly-spaced as possible.”

“So the one spot in the kill zone that they haven’t struck.” Sam nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. Who’s going in?”

Before they could decide who would make the best homeless person, Matt arrived with their food. While they ate, Lorne inquired after Miko’s sister Yuki and her family, told Miko to thank Yuki for the mochi recipe. He inquired after Dean’s experiments with developing more ammo for a firearm called, simply, The Colt, and Sam’s work on translating one of his ancestor’s hunting journals.

“I found something really useful for this hunt, actually,” Sam said.

Rodney arched his eyebrows. “How useful is useful?”

“A cure for the vampirism,” Sam said. “But only if you’ve been turned by the Jaws variety.”

“That’s actually useful.” Rodney gulped down some water. “How does it work?”

“A couple of prerequisites,” Sam said. “Need to have the blood of the vamp’s sire, and the vamp can’t have fed on any human blood. Mix up the cure, drink it, hey presto, back to human.”

“So basically you have to catch the vamp right after they’re turned,” John said.

Sam nodded. “Yes. I do have the ingredients on hand, just in case.”

“You’re such a Boy Scout,” Dean said. Sam flashed him a version of the Boy Scout salute that had Vala giggling behind her hand and Dean looking suspicious but not quite offended.

Before anyone could comment further on Sam’s preparedness skills - which rivaled Lorne’s in this instance - Vala’s cell phone rang. She scooped it up and flipped it open, answered crisply and professionally.

“Go for Mitchell.”

John wondered how Vala came up with last names. Her legal name was Mal Doran, which he’d never heard before, and the origin of which was a mystery even to Sam and Lorne. Lorne liked to borrow other team members’ names.

“Detective Bruno - no, now is fine. What? Survived? An attack last night? Saw her attackers? I’ll be right there with my team. Text me the address? Thank you.” Vala clicked her phone shut and raised her hand, hollered for Matt and to go boxes. Lorne threw down enough cash to cover all their meals, and Matt scrambled to bring them boxes. John and the rest headed out to the bus to throw on suits while Lorne, who was always dressed professionally, boxed up the food.

John was into his suit and still knotting his tie when Rodney herded everyone into the sedan, and off to the hospital they went.

Detective Bruno was a short, stout woman with curly dark hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a steely gaze. She nodded at Vala, eyed the rest of them warily.

“Lot of back-up you got there.”

“As I mentioned before,” Vala said, “we’ve been tracking these predators for a while, across multiple states.”

“The victim was checked in as a Jane Doe,” Detective Bruno said, “but a man showed up just now, claiming to be a PI hired by her parents down in LA. He’s in with her. The nurses are insistent that she only have a few visitors at a time, so we’ll have to wait.”

“Of course,” Vala said. She made introductions for everyone - John McKay, Samuel Smith and Dean Smith (no relation), Rodney Sheppard, Lorne Jackson, and Miko Carter - and Detective Bruno gave them a rundown of the case.

The witness, tentatively identified as Summer Jenkins by the PI interviewing her now, was a runaway, just turned eighteen - she’d run when she was still seventeen - and had been attacked in an alley several blocks from the hospital, right in the zone they’d been planning to stake out. Her throat had been torn up pretty badly - she’d gotten stitches for it - and she’d lost a lot of blood (more than a torn throat warranted, John was sure), but she’d finally woken up, and she was able to describe her attackers. Two of them, one male, one female.

Rodney caught John’s eye, tilted his head, and John nodded, edged to the side so he could see into the hospital room.

Summer Jenkins was a slender, pale thing, with white-blond hair and limpid blue eyes, and she barely looked sixteen, fragile in the hospital gown. The man interviewing her was tall, but shorter than Sam, with dark hair that curled at his collar and a long dark coat, expensive shoes. The man’s partner was a pretty woman, maybe thirty, with dark golden hair and a heart-shaped face, taking notes like a reporter.

The man turned ever so slightly so John could see his profile. John did his best to commit it to memory so he could describe it to Lorne if necessary, and he had the sense that the man was aware of him, was watching him.

John edged back toward the rest of the group, who were listening to Detective Bruno explain what evidence her team had marshaled on the case so far. When Detective Bruno asked about the other cases they were tracking, Dean and Sam launched into a description of definitely similar-sounding cases. John was willing to bet that they were describing a previous vampire hunt. He wondered how many they’d done.

Finally, the PI and his partner finished speaking to Summer, and they came to the door. The PI was striking - strong jaw, narrow face, bright eyes, incredibly long lashes. But there was something about him that wasn't quite right. Whenever John looked at him, he wavered, for lack of a better word. Like he wasn't really there. John blinked, wondered if his messed-up sleep schedule was messing with him, but then the man was speaking to Detective Bruno.

“Thanks so much for your time. Summer’s parents are very grateful for your solid work.”

“No credit to me - the paramedics who found her are the real heroes.” But Detective Bruno smiled, charmed.

John didn't blame her. The PI was a good-looking guy.

“By the way,” Detective Bruno said, “this is Agent Mitchell and her team from the FBI. They've been tracking the people who hurt Summer.”

The PI narrowed his eyes at Vala; he didn't believe they were federal agents for one second.

Vala smiled her sweetest smile, and the PI’s assistant scowled. “Special Agent Vala Mitchell.”

“Mick St. John,” said the PI. “This is my partner, Beth Turner.”

Beth shook hands with Vala perfunctorily. “What division of the FBI are you with?” She narrowed her eyes, searching Vala’s expression.

“We’re from a Major Crimes task force out of the Denver Field Office,” Vala said smoothly. “Supervisory Special Agent Victor Henricksen is coordinating everything from that office.”

Mick offered his hand to Vala and everyone on the team. He raised his eyebrows at Lorne, unmoved by his friendly smile and dimples. When he shook John’s hand, John was shocked at how cold the man’s skin was. Mick’s nostrils flared, and he stared at John in shock, and for one moment John was sure the man’s irises had turned silver.

Mick snatched his hand back from John, breathing hard.

“Mick?” Beth asked.

“I'm fine.” Mick’s voice came out as a low, guttural growl.

Miko pushed her glasses up her nose. “Is Ms. Jenkins up for visitors? We need to speak to her as soon as possible.”

“She’s been through a lot,” Beth said, warning.

Everyone on the team looked to Vala, who said, “Sam, Lorne, Miko, please interview the witness. John, Dean, Rodney - coffee.”

Dean seemed to know, instinctively, where the hospital coffee machine was, and John followed him. The entire time, he was sure Mick St. John was staring at him. When the three of them returned, coffee in hand, including drinks for Vala and Detective Bruno, Mick and Beth were gone, but John felt like he could still sense Mick’s uncanny coldness.

While Dean and Vala traded war stories with Detective Bruno about strange cases, unruly suspects, and epic foot chases, John sipped his coffee and studied Rodney. Rodney had his nose in his cell phone, was tapping away, answering emails, sending emails, and quite possibly playing Candy Crush. Lorne was right. Rodney was beautiful. He had great shoulders and a very nice chest, and something about the way he used his hands when he talked was fascinating. His blue eyes were bright, sparking, full of energy and intelligence. And his mouth -

“Do I have something on my face?” Rodney asked.

“No.”

“Then stop staring at me. You should probably check your own emails.”

John reached for his phone, but Sam, Miko, and Lorne emerged from the hospital room.

“How did it go?” Detective Bruno asked.

“About as good as can be expected,” Sam said. “She was pretty emotional after her conversation with St. John and his partner; she hadn’t thought much about her parents, had thought really only about surviving the last little while, was sure her parents had forgotten her. Her descriptions of her attackers were a little too generic to be helpful: male and female, caucasian, anywhere from fifteen to thirty-five, brown hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, smelled bad.”

Detective Bruno nodded sympathetically. “Well, at least she survived.”

“Trauma victims often need a couple of sleep cycles to get their memories in order,” Lorne said. “The way the human brain stores memories during a traumatic incident is different than the way it stores memory during the ordinary course of business. Details and events will be jumbled, which is to be expected, but she’ll be capable of more detail in a couple of days.”

Was that true? Lorne sounded so confident, so professional.

“We’ll work with what we have and maybe come back the day after tomorrow,” Vala said. “Please, do keep us apprised of how she’s doing, if she remembers anything else, or if she’s moved.”

“Will do. Good luck, and let me know if Portland PD can do anything to help.” Detective Bruno shook Vala’s hand, and then the team headed for the elevators.

Once the elevator door was closed behind them, Vala asked, “What did you actually get?”

“One small detail that she was hesitant to give, because she was unsure if it was real or if she’d hallucinated it,” Sam said.

Rodney gestured for him to go on.

“Only one of the vampires had shark teeth. The other - the female - had the traditional pair of fangs.” Miko frowned. “We could be looking at interspecies collaboration, the first of its kind.”

Rodney’s expression was grim. “Then let’s be prepared for all comers.” 

 

*

Since Summer had been attacked in the place they’d planned to stake out, the team had to study Vala’s geographic profile and pick a new place to stake out. Eventually they located an alley that looked like a good fit. Vala, Rodney, and Lorne were picked to play the homeless while Miko ran tech from the van. Sam, Dean, and John were stationed nearby, wrapped up in warm clothes, armed with crossbows and bolts loaded with dead man’s blood, silver machetes, wooden stakes, and lighters.

Vala had a similar stash of weapons in the cardboard box she was fussing with, using as a shelter.

Lorne, who had undergone a complete transformation, wearing ragged, foul-smelling clothes, was shivering and attempting to use an overturned shopping cart as a makeshift shelter against the winter chill.

Rodney, by comparison, was bundled in pretty much every ugly piece of winter gear they’d been able to salvage from a thrift store, in a searing color combination that would offend even the colorblind. He had a knit cap and fingerless gloves and had constructed an elaborate shelter out of a cardboard box, a broken chair, and a tarp, all anchored against the side of a dumpster.

All three of them had their cell phones on them and their bluetooth headsets, which were hidden by their caps. Those were useful, because whenever they spoke, they looked like they were talking to themselves, which added to the role of mentally ill homeless people they were playing.

It went on for three nights, three different alleys, all in the next place they guessed the vamps would strike, given the strike pattern they’d already established.

“Are you afraid?” John asked on the third night. Sam and Dean had made what amounted to sniper nests on balconies above the allies, swaddled in blankets and gear and looking a bit homeless themselves, but for being armed to the teeth.

“Afraid of what?” Rodney asked, huffing and puffing against the cold.

“The night. The darkness.”

Rodney snorted. “No. I’m a genius astrophysicist. I’ve studied the stars for far too long to be afraid of the night. There’s nothing inherently evil about the night. Monsters come out at night because it’s convenient, because it’s dark. We inherently fear the dark because we’re more vulnerable in it, but the night is just the absence of sunlight.”

“Is that why you hunt?” John asked. He and Rodney were on their own channel. Sam was watching Vala; Dean was watching Lorne. “Because you love the stars?”

“Who said anything about love? Science is hardly so sentimental.”

“Why the stars, then? Why the supernatural?”

“Because humans are afraid of what they don’t understand. If we can understand these things, we can move past our fear.” Rodney’s teeth were chattering, and John wished he could do something to make Rodney warmer, but Rodney’s physical discomfort was selling the pretext.

“Is that optimism I hear? Or altruism.”

“Hardly. Like science, I’m not sentimental,” Rodney snapped.

“This doesn’t freak you out at all?” John asked. He remembered the terror, the rage, the frustration when he’d been immobilized by Ba’al’s telekinesis.

“Of course I’m afraid. It’s human to be afraid. But fear is no excuse not to do my job.”

John peered through the bars of his balcony at Rodney, who was making an even more elaborate shelter than the night before. It was like he was competing against himself, to make the best shelter he could with what he had. Like he was proving something to himself, about how he’d cope if he was homeless.

A woman said, “You’re not afraid enough, human.”

And then she burst out of the darkness and landed on Rodney. Lorne was the first to react, drawing his crossbow, but then there was a man on top of him. He grabbed Lorne, threw him into the wall with a sickening crunch.

Vala threw a punch, and the man backhanded her sharply. She dropped like a stone. Was her neck broken? Dammit dammit dammit!

John didn’t think. He drew his crossbow and fired. Caught the man in the arm. Then he flung himself over the edge of the balcony, rappelling downward at breakneck speed. Dean and Sam hit the ground before him, took off running for Vala and Lorne.

John shouted, “Hey, bloodsucker!” He couldn’t run and reload his crossbow, so when the woman turned toward him, John stabbed her with one of the crossbow bolts.

She went down with a surprised gurgle, and someone shouted _hunters!_

Just like that, a dozen more vampires spilled into the alley. One of them snatched Rodney. John laid about him with silver and wooden stakes alike, but they were too fast, too strong, tossed him aside like he was nothing.

And then, in the midst of it all, was Mick St. John. He fought back with supernatural ferocity, just as strong and fast as the vampires. His eyes were blazing silver, and unholy stars, he had fangs. Was he Black Bouquet or Weird Science?

Sam shouted, “Rodney!”

John could only watch in horror - he could barely breathe, his ribs were bruised, if not broken - as two vampires carried an unconscious Rodney out of the alley, flung him into the back of a van, and the van took off, tires squealing. John pushed himself to his feet. He’d managed to paralyze the first two attackers with dead man’s blood. They could be interrogated. They - they were dead. Both of them were missing heads.

All the vampires were missing heads.

John stumbled toward the darker recesses of the alley, stake in hand. He was just in time to see Mick St. John behead the last vampire.

“No!”

Mick turned to him, snarled, but then his nostrils flared, like he was sniffing the air, like he was _smelling John_ , and John was pinned to the wall before he could blink.

“What are you?” Mick demanded. “You smell like -” He nuzzled John’s throat. “You smell like summer and peach wine and - _what are you?_ ”

“You stupid idiot,” John breathed. “They took him, and you killed the ones we could have questioned.”

Mick looked dazed.

They had to find Rodney. They couldn’t lose Rodney. They needed to rescue Rodney. John needed to find Rodney.

Mick’s lips parted, and he leaned in.

John shoved the wooden stake into his chest without hesitation.

Mick’s eyes went wide, and he toppled backward like a felled tree. There was a scream. Beth Turner, Mick’s partner.

John drew his gun before she could get close. She froze.

“Winchester!” John barked.

“You stabbed him!” Beth wailed.

“The fact that he hasn’t turned to dust means he’s just paralyzed,” John said.

“Sir?” Sam and Dean chorused.

“Cuff the nice lady away from her partner,” John said. “We’ve had enough of their interference for one night. He killed the last lead we had on Rodney, and we need to find Rodney, and we don’t need any further interruptions.”

Beth stared at John. “You know what he is?”

“We’re professionals.” John kept his sidearm trained on her.

“Professional vampire hunters?”

Dean chuckled. “If you think vampires are all the night has to offer, you haven’t been doing this long enough.”

Sam cuffed Beth to the dumpster handle a few yards away while Dean did another sweep of the alley.

“Yeah, they’re all dead,” Dean said. “C’mon. Lorne and Vala need medical attention. We’ll drop them at the ER, and then we’ll get Rodney back.”

“What’s the plan?” John asked. “We can’t interrogate the undead.”

“We can track Rodney’s cell phone,” Sam said.

“But what about us?” Beth asked.

Sam knelt and placed the handcuff key just out of Beth’s convenient reach. “You can stay out of our way.”

Lorne had a broken arm but swore he was conscious enough to drive himself and Vala to the hospital. Sam stayed on the phone with him while he drove to make sure he was okay. John fired up the bus while Miko and Dean did their mojo and tracked Rodney’s cell phone. Apparently the vampires hadn’t thought to check him for one because most of their victims were genuinely homeless and without cell phones.

They found the nest easily enough, a large abandoned house on the far, far outskirts of town in an already shady neighborhood. They’d seen the black van pull up, seen the vampires unload Rodney. It was Miko who thought to turn on Rodney’s cell phone remotely, so they could use it as a listening device.

“We lost a bunch to those hunters,” one of the vampires snarled. “We should turn this guy to make up for it.”

“And get our vengeance,” another vampire added. “Did you catch their scent?”

“Pretty sure two of them were Winchesters,” the first said.

John raised his eyebrows, glanced at Sam and Dean, but Miko didn’t look surprised that the vampires knew their names.

“Yeah, let’s turn this little guy they tried to save,” the second said. “The looks on their faces when they see that they failed to rescue someone will be priceless.”

“Rodney!” Miko squeaked.

John shook his head. “This is good. The change takes time. We need time. We can cure Rodney, remember?”

Sam and Dean glanced at him.

This was what John had trained for, knew how to do. “Captain, Lieutenant, get me recon on the house, entrances and exits, number of hostiles inside. Miko, tell me what armaments we have available.”

Dean straightened up. “Yes, sir.”

Sam actually saluted, and then he and Dean scrambled to arm themselves. An assault on the house would be simple: they’d block off all but one exit, force the vampires to choose the one exit, pick them off one by one with dead man’s blood. Miko had a steady hand, could help Sam and Dean pick off the vampires while John went in and got Rodney. John had faced worse odds in Afghanistan, and Sam and Dean were both experienced hunters and soldiers.

Sam and Dean returned with information from the recon, and John drew up a hasty sketch of the place. Miko returned with numbers on their ammo stores. John had been listening to the vampires changing Rodney all the while. Rodney was mostly unconscious for it, but listening to the vampires taunt him and insult him while they forced him to drink their blood was - well, once he had Rodney back, he’d enjoy taking their heads off.

“Sir?” Sam asked, tone cautious and deferential.

John outlined the plan. It was simple. There was a farm nearby. They’d slaughter a couple of chickens, smear the blood on themselves to mask their own scent. They’d throw flashbangs into the house, set fire on three sides of the house, and shoot the vampires with dead man’s blood as they came out the front door. John would go in through the back and get Rodney, and they would take blood from every single vampire, make up the cure, and feed it to Rodney till he changed back.

“Any questions?” John asked.

“No, sir,” Dean said.

“Then let’s arm up and move out,” John said.

“Now?” Miko asked.

John nodded at Miko’s phone. “Rodney will be waking up soon. Can’t let him feed on a human before we get to him.”

John wasn’t a bad soldier. He wasn’t a bad officer, and he wasn’t a bad pilot. For the last few weeks he felt like he’d been swimming through a haze, walking through a dream. He was in a new world, a fantasy world, where dragons and alien colors and fairies roamed the earth. This was the real world. He was on a team. One of his teammates had been taken. He had to get his teammate back. Leave no man behind. There was an enemy, there was a plan, and he had weapons.

Sam, Dean, and Miko were given sixty seconds to arm up.

“Let’s roll,” John said.

He might have felt bad about stealing the chickens, but he’d done worse in Afghanistan. The chicken blood was hot and sticky, the scent of it cloying in John’s nostrils, but he didn’t care. He, Sam, and Dean, poured gasoline around three sides of the house while Miko set up crossbows and bolts of dead man’s blood. Sam and Dean skirted back around to the sides of the house.

John took a breath, another breath, and another. Then he pulled the pin out of the flashbang, wound up, and threw. There was breaking glass on all sides of the house, but John, Sam, Dean, and Miko had gas masks and earmuffs to protect them. John took three more breaths, crossed the gasoline line, and then lit it. Fire leaped skyward behind him as he crashed through the open window and made a beeline for the center of the first floor.

The vampires streamed toward the front, crying out in confusion.

As predicted, the vamps had left Rodney, still unconscious, on the floor. John slung Rodney over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, ribs protesting all the while, and headed for the front door. He managed to peg a couple of stragglers in the back with bolts of dead man’s blood, and then he was out into the fresh night air.

Paralyzed vamps were scattered across the ground. John lay Rodney gently on the grass, then went to help Sam and Dean grab the stragglers.

Miko made sure to take copious blood samples from each vampire. Then Sam, Dean, and John beheaded them all and tossed their heads and bodies into the burning house. They gathered up Rodney and headed back into the city. Sam had brought along enough cure for all six of them just in case, but that wasn’t nearly enough for all of the samples they’d had to take. They had no idea which vampire had sired Rodney, who was still unconscious, was bound with silver cuffs just to be safe.

Dean drove while Sam prepped the first cure and John tended to Rodney. Miko was on the phone to Lorne to find out what he knew about a hunter supply store so they could buy more cure ingredients. 

John had washed up and was standing inside what looked like a voodoo pawn shop while a pretty Latina girl gathered cure supplies into a box for him when it finally hit him: he’d slaughtered a nest of vampires. They were on the verge of losing Rodney.

The girl had been wide-eyed when John told her the quantities of what he wanted and said money was no object, because it wasn’t. Officially Team Hunting had a budget from the federal government. Unofficially, John would give every last penny he had to save Rodney. He’d failed his teammates once. He’d never do it again.

John stepped out of the hunter supply shop a couple thousand dollars lighter and a duffel bag of cure ingredients heavier when Mick St. John and Beth Turner appeared.

“You,” Mick snarled, baring his fangs, revealing his silver eyes.

“What about me?” John demanded.

“You stabbed me.”

“You were in my way. Because of you, one of my teammates was kidnapped and turned into a vampire.”

Mick’s eyes returned to normal, and he looked shocked. Penitent. “I - you know vampires.”

“I do.”

“Who told you?”

“No one you know, I’m sure.” John moved to step around him, but Mick caught his arm.

“You’d be surprised at who I know,” Mick said.

John raised his eyebrows. “You much for the Air Force these days?”

“I served in the Army,” Mick said. “But that was - a long time ago.”

John shook out of Mick’s grip. “Like I said, no one you know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go save my teammate.”

“You mean kill him?” Beth asked, voice choked.

“Cure him,” John said.

Mick shook his head. “There’s no cure for vampirism.”

“Maybe not your kind,” John agreed, “but for the kind that turned Rodney, there is. Now get out of my way. I don’t want to have to stab you again.”

“My kind?” Mick echoed.

John pushed past him. “I don’t have time for twenty questions.” He picked up the pace.

Mick and Beth followed him.

“Is there really a cure?” Beth asked.

“My teammates tell me there is. We have the ingredients for it. We’re going to administer it, and we are going to move on.”

Beth eyed him. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” John kept walking.

“So - abrupt.”

“I’m a soldier, and this is war.”

“I thought you were with the FBI,” Beth said.

John glanced at her. “You thought your boyfriend was the only type of vampire there is, too.”

Beth spluttered, but then John’s bluetooth crackled to life.

“Major Sheppard, what’s your ETA?” Sam asked.

“Lieutenant, I’m twenty minutes out. Picked up a couple of stowaways. Put away the silver and the fine china.”

“Vamps?”

“Just the one.”

“That St. John character?” Dean asked.

“Exactly the one.”

“Roger that,” Sam said. “Winchester out.”

Radio voice protocol was familiar, comforting.

Mick kept up easily with John’s brutal pace; Beth had to trot to stay with them.

“What are you?” Mick asked. “You’re not - human.”

“Sure I am,” John said easily.

“But you smell -”

“You already said.”

“Do you know about all of us?” Mick asked. “All of our names and aliases? Where we live? What we do?”

“Not my job,” John said. “You keep to yourselves, you have your own enforcers, fine. You step out of line, we join the party.”

“Who’s we?” Beth asked.

“A few of your other friends smelled - off,” Mick said. “But your scent is the strongest.”

“Sniffing people is like stalking people,” John said. “Creepy and unwelcome.”

“I can’t help the way you smell,” Mick protested. The glance he shot Beth was - guilty? Sheepish?

“Are you really a PI?” John asked, just to turn the tables.

Beth was surprisingly quiescent about answering questions. Mick really was a PI from LA. Beth had started out as an investigative reporter, then turned civilian contractor for the local prosecutor’s office, but when the prosecutor turned on Mick and his kind, she’d teamed up with Mick to continue to investigate cases for money but also help protect those of his kind who wanted to live under the radar and in peace. She added, proudly, that Mick had been a PI for decades and had rescued her when she’d been kidnapped by a rogue vampire. Mick winced when she mentioned it. John wondered what else there was to the story, then dismissed it.

“Sheppard!” Vala exploded over the comm line. “Get back here! All hands on deck!”

John broke into a sprint. He reached the bus and flung the door open. Mick and Beth clambered up behind him.

Sam, Dean, and Miko were trying to hold a thrashing Rodney down while Lorne, with his arm in a cast and a sling, was stirring something at the kitchen counter.

“Little help,” Miko said. John handed off his duffel to Vala and went to join the fray.

Rodney kicked and struggled. Where Mick looked like he was a wavering hologram, Rodney looked - red. Tinged in a haze of bleeding red.

“I’m thirsty,” he pleaded. “You’re starving me. Come on. Just a little bit. A little won’t hurt.”

“A little will hurt a lot if you get stuck that way forever,” Dean warned him.

“John!” Rodney’s eyes lit up, fever bright. “Come on, John, please? You smell so good. Why do you smell so good? Sam smells like sulfur and Dean smells like ozone and Lorne smells like sadness and too many old books. But you. For me. Please? I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know you think I’m pretty. Help me out and I’ll help you out, all right?”

Sam flinched at the mention of sulfur.

Dean raised his eyebrows at John.

John raised his eyebrows right back.

“Allow me,” Mick said.

Rodney snarled, and his fangs appeared. “What the hell is he doing here? Get him out of here! John’s mine, you mutant piece of -”

Mick pinned Rodney down with one hand.

“Lorne, any day now,” Sam said.

Lorne handed over the cup. “Here. Make him drink it.”

While Mick pinned Rodney down, Dean forced his jaw open and Sam poured the cure into his mouth. John had to look away. It was just like what the vampires had done to him.

Beth stood in the doorway, eyes wide.

John went to give Lorne, Miko, and Vala a hand. Lorne had carefully labeled each vial with a number. Miko and Vala were weighing the ingredients, separating them into piles. They’d used cups and bowls and tupperware and tupperware lids and anything they could get their hands on, but there had been so many vampires and -

Miko started tearing paper out of notebooks, and at first John was confused, but he realized she was making bowls. Out of paper.

“Anything?” John asked.

Rodney was still begging and pleading for blood.

Sam rinsed the cup Lorne had used and handed it over.

It took nine tries before Rodney’s pleas faded. John rushed to his side. Rodney’s eyes slipped closed, and he stopped struggling, sank back. He was dying.

“He’s not breathing,” John said. “Rodney?”

“It’s the cure,” Sam said. “He’ll need to sleep while it happens, just like with the change.”

“How do you know what?” Mick asked.

Sam eyed him. “It’s what I read.”

“How long?” John reached out, pressed a hand to Rodney’s throat. He had a pulse, but it was faint, thready.

“Not sure. Eight hours is a good night’s rest, right?”

Dean huffed. “Like any of us ever get eight hours.”

“Now what?” Vala asked.

Lorne said, “We wait.”

“We can’t all wait around here,” John said. “It’s too crowded. And we should get sleep while we can.”

Mick turned to Beth. “Go back to the hotel.”

“But -”

“I need to see this through.” There was an intensity to Mick’s tone that made John shiver, but Beth nodded and hopped off of the bus, car keys in hand.

Sam and Dean wrangled Rodney back to the lower of the middle bunks, and Dean climbed into the upper one. Sam claimed the couch, and Lorne climbed into the front passenger seat, reclined it as far as he could, snuggled down under the hand-knitted afghan that was usually in the sedan. He’d cleaned up as best as he could but was still dressed mostly like a hobo.

Vala and Miko stumbled for the double bunk in the back. John and Mick were left sitting at the kitchen table, staring at each other.

“You could sleep, too,” Mick said. “I could keep watch. I can stay up all night.”

“No offense,” John said, “but I don’t know you, and more than one vampire has expressed in interest in how I smell - and therefore how I might taste - tonight. So I’m keeping watch on my team on my own, thanks.”

Mick nodded. “Fair enough.” He sat back, posture nonchalant, but John knew he was fully alert. “So, Air Force?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“All over. Afghanistan most recently. Army, you said?”

“Medic. During World War Two.”

John raised his eyebrows. “You look like you’re -”

“Thirty. So, pilot?”

“Rotor, mostly. Went to Test Pilot school, though, so anything, in the end. Which theater?”

“European.”

That was how it went, for a little while, the two of them talking about their combat experience, friends they’d served with, friends they’d lost. Then they were both silent, John staring at the window, Mick staring into the darkness where Rodney lay. Staring at Mick’s flickering visage was giving John a headache.

Finally, Mick said, “I’m in love with her. Beth.”

John had been in love, once or twice. Nancy had moved on long ago.

“I can’t turn her, not into a monster like me,” Mick said softly. “But I don’t think I can watch her die.”

John studied the other man, the haunted expression on his face, the bleakness in his eyes. Finally, he said, “I hear there’s a spell for damn well near anything.”

Mick frowned. “Spell?”

There was movement from the middle bunks. John was on his feet in an instant, silver machete in hand, terror in his throat.

Rodney came shuffling out of the back, shedding his many layers of clothes. “What the hell were you thinking, letting me sleep in all of these? They smell disgusting and I feel like a malfunctioning furnace.” His voice was a little hoarse, but otherwise he looked - all right. Pale and sweaty and cranky.

“Water,” Rodney said. “I need water.”

John set the machete down, reached into the cupboard beside Rodney’s head for the one clean plastic cup.

Rodney stared at the mess in the sink. “What the hell…?”

John filled the cup and handed it to Rodney, who took it and gulped greedily.

“Did we do it?” Rodney asked. “Did we get the nest?”

John gazed at Rodney. That blood-red haze that had overtaken him earlier was gone. “Yeah, we got it. Go back to bed.”

Rodney patted John’s shoulder with his usual condescending affection after a hunt well done and shuffled back to his bunk.

“He’s human again.” Mick’s voice was barely more than a whisper. He was right behind John.

“Unholy stars,” John hissed, spinning around. “Don’t do that.”

“There is a cure.” Mick’s eyes were bright with longing.

“Not for you,” John said softly. “It requires the blood of the vampire who turned you - and for you to never have tasted human blood. And even then, I don’t think it’s for your type of vampire.”

“My type of vampire,” Mick echoed. “But I can try - and modify it, maybe.”

John gazed at him for a long moment. “Let me write down what I have. Do what you want with it.”

“Thank you.” The two words were hushed, reverent.

John was seriously unnerved with Mick’s gaze on him, but he copied Lorne’s recipe and handed it over.

“You know,” Mick said, “if you feel for him what I think you do, don’t let what you are - whatever it is you won’t tell me - stand in the way of you. If Beth and I -”

“Good luck, Mick St. John. And good night.”

Mick cut himself off, expression rueful. “Right. Listen, if I have questions, can I contact you?”

John handed him one of the FBI cards they handed out, and he watched Mick climb down off the bus. Then John went and sprawled in the driver’s seat, leaned it back as far as it would go, and closed his eyes and dreamed of blood.


End file.
